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r l swihart: three poems

Montage | Nottiteln #5 | Nottiteln #6


An ogling lens reluctant to leave
an Italian doorway

An osteoporotic woman
climbing the stairs to the Siena Duomo
or stretching to push a bottle
into Der Grüne Punkt

A boy peddling his bike up the street
to crouch behind a hedgerow
and hear her sighs

Her face frozen in anguish
turned to soak up the sun

A poet wandering in fog

Another lens circling a house in flames
or a pathetic tree

The candle he carried halfway
across the churchyard
before it expired

Nottiteln #5


The moment he
caught a glimpse of

he ran like the dickens
(try mixing
oil and water

fire and ice
vowel and glottal


Stranger still
the roots of

and that the
marriage should

Nottiteln #6

Swallowing fear
the young boy built a lean-to
beneath the expansive
tall oak

Emptying his pockets
he shelved their contents
in a hollow of the tree

On a tick and pillow
of leaves he curled up
for the night

His eyes darted
from thread to thread
in the redundant fabric
until the whole went

Poet's Biography:
  r l swihart currently resides in Long Beach, California with his lopsidedly feminine family: his wife Ania, and his two girls Katia (7) and Nadja (4). He teaches high school math to pay the mortgage; writes poetry just because; travels whenever he can. A few of his recent poetry credits include: Arbutus, Richmond Review, Adirondack Review, and Niederngasse.

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